An Excellent Judge of Character
by Raeving.onwards
Summary: Matt gets a new job at a natural grocery store. 2ptalia
1. Chapter 1

Matthieu Bonnefoy. Matt wrote it on the job application, almost flinching as he did so. If there was one thing he hated most, it was his name. It reminded him of his father; an idiot if their ever was one. In fact, he had another kid named Matthew. Matt wished he'd gotten that name. It was much easier for Americans to spell.

Yes, what a surprise, the man with a last name like 'Bonnefoy' was French. Matt had traveled quite a bit, though. Born in France, moved to French-speaking Canada when he was about five and grew up there. Recently he had moved to America for a fresh start. He was still trying to ditch the stupid accent, so he didn't talk much. In fact, he would have preferred a job /without/ a lot of talking. As a cashier in this organic food store he had found around the corner of his new apartment, he would actually have to talk to people, discuss pesticide-free brussel sprouts. As if he cared. But a job was a job, and they were hiring.

"Are you ready?"

Matt looked up to see an auburn haired man, perhaps about his age.

"Yes," Matt replied. He meant it to be polite (and at least a little American sounding), but instead it sounded gruff. The blond mentally punched himself.

"Alright, best way to learn if you're chill is to test you out. I'm Al, by the way," he added as he handed Matt an apron. It had the name of the store on it- Universal Organics -next to a little tree.

"Matt," replied the other, but couldn't help blurting in his surly manner: "Test me out, like a car or something?"

Matt feared he'd be reprimanded, but Al smiled crookedly, revealing a few missing teeth.

"Yeah," he chuckled- a dry, raspy sound. "Guess you could say that."

That was surprising. Matt wasn't used to people accepting his backtalk. As he pulled on his apron and tied his hair back into a ponytail, he studied Al. The reddish brown colour had to come from a bottle the way it caught the light. Matt himself was familiar with this, he tended to dye the ends of his own hair a more strawberry blond than the dishwater roots, mostly to distinguish his hair from his father's. But then again, even if Al's hair was natural, that seemed to be the only thing that was. He had tired, lidded eyes that were magnified by charcoal liner smudged on them, and the eyes themselves...well, Matt could've sworn he saw a glint of red. He had several piercings on his ears, one in his eyebrow, and two in his bottom lip. When he rolled up his sleeves, Matt saw a few tattoos that must've extended further up his arm. He almost missed the subject of his studying saying something:

"What?" Matt asked, having not been paying attention.

"I know I look funny," repeated Al, "But there's no need to stare, darlin'."

Matt smiled in that wry, closed-mouth way he had. He decided he liked Al, from his rebellious piercings and his tattoos to his crooked grin and his raspy voice. He was sure they'd get along.

* * *

"You did pretty well," Al mumbled, scribbling something on a clipboard as he had been all day. "Your people skills need a little work, but then so do mine."

Matt nodded wordlessly.

"So, you're as good as hired!"

"Really?" Matt's eyebrows raised incredulously as he accepted the hand Al offered for him to shake. It was a strong handshake. Al winked at him.

"I consider myself an excellent judge of character, darlin'."

Matt ducked his head and Al chuckled dryly. The two pulled off their aprons, and walked out together; Al had admitted that his shift was supposed to be over about an hour ago. The sun was already setting behind the horizon. Was it that late already? Had Matt actually had...fun at his day of vegetable freak training?

"Got a ride?" Al asked, pulling on a cool leather jacket. Matt shivered slightly in his flimsy flannel shirt.

"Was gonna take the bus," Matt grumbled, looking at his feet.

"Well, doll, there goes your bus," the other laughed, pointing at said bus, which was currently rolling away from its stop and down the street. "Let me give you a ride."

"Where's your car?" Matt wasn't used to people giving him anything. Al only grinned mysteriously and walked into the parking lot, swinging his keys and whistling. What he led Matt to was hardly a car. It was a beautiful black motorcycle.

"Wow," Matt crooned. "What a bike."

"Mmhm, I call her Beatrice."

"Reminds me of my Harley."

Al cocked his head. "You had a Harley?"

"Yeah," Matt scuffed his foot against the ground, stuck his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. "Crashed it."

"I'm sorry, darlin'." Matt wondered why the American always used that stupid pet name. Al swung one leg over the side of the motorcycle and patted the seat behind him. "Hop on, Frenchie."

Matt growled. So he had noticed his accent. Matt thought he had been doing so well, too. "Fuck off." And then: "What, no helmets?"

Al smiled devilishly over his shoulder. "I live a dangerous life, doll."

"Obviously," Matt agreed with a sneer and an eye roll, but hopped on behind him and wrapped his arms around Al's waist reluctantly. The leather of his jacket smelled nice, like tobacco and cologne. Al started the bike, shouting over the sputtering engine:

"Alright, which way?"

Matt gave a short list of directions, to which Al obeyed. Matt closed his eyes and just leant into the soft leather, not caring how emasculating it felt or looked. Soon the roaring motor cut out, and the wind through Matt's hair ceased. He opened his eyes to Al's cocky smile and his apartment complex looming over them.

"I like you, Matt," Al chuckled as they hopped off the bike.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Matt narrowed his eyes, but his heartbeat quickened. Al couldn't know. No, not this soon.

"Because you're real trusting," Al lightly punched his arm and climbed back on his bike. "I could be a serial killer."

Matt smiled wryly. "I consider myself an excellent judge of character, darlin'."

Al laughed and started his bike up. "Tomorrow," he yelled over the engine, "Eight o'clock."

As he wheeled away, Matt mumbled at his back: "I'll be there."


	2. Slow Down, Doll

Matt stretched like a cat, uncoiling his muscles and yawning. He untangled himself from his blankets and sat up, more than a little confused. He wasn't a morning person; he never woke up before his alarm, which he had set to 6:30...

But sun was filtering in under the curtains and Matt realized with a jolt that his alarm clock was flashing 12:00. The power must've gone out last night. He scrambled for his watch on the bedside table, whose minute hand was on thirty, but whose hour hand was on seven.

Yelping profanities, Matt scrambled out of bed, tugging on his pants and skittering to his bathroom. He avoided looking in the mirror; he knew what he would see, the same tired bags under the same tired navy blue eyes and the same blond stubble that he didn't have time to shave today. The last thing he wanted to do was be late to his first day, no matter how friendly his new boss was.

He pulled on a plaid flannel shirt- almost identical to his outfit yesterday, but he was no fashionista -and hopped out the door with his boots halfway on, his sunglasses on top of his head, and his wallet clenched in his hand. He almost missed the bus, but was able to flag it down just in time and plunk onto a plastic seat with a sigh and an obligatory check of his watch. 7:50, it was almost a 10 minute bus ride there...

Matt arrived by the skin of his teeth at 8 o'clock. Al was polishing Beatrice in the parking lot, hair messy from the wind of the road. Matt looked up at the monstrous storefront, waiting for Al to finish. Sometimes he forgot just how big the building was, for a natural food store. It was impressive. Most of the store wall that was facing the road was glass, clean and reflecting Matt's figure back at him. He looked away.

"Hey, hun," Al said, standing with a grunt and surveying Matt's red face and stubbly chin. "Close call, huh?"

"Yeah," Matt replied, trying to hide his heavy breathing. Hands shoved into his pockets, he nodded at Al nonchalantly.

"What's up for today?"

"Well," Al squinted at the early morning sun in his eyes and exhaled, thinking deeply. He pointed to the store. "Walk with me."

They strolled through the still-empty produce aisles, Matt having to take bigger steps than he was used to to keep up. They looped around the entire store, an impressive feat, and Matt was sure his legs would hurt by the end of the day. As they walked, Al nodded at employees and greeting them by name. There seemed to be no clear hierarchy here; Al's name tag said 'Manager', but no one was really paying him much attention and he wasn't barking orders. Matt liked it. They were all equals.

"Alright darlin'."

They reached a set of doors labeled 'Employees Only' at the back of the store, which led to a warehouse. Boxes of non-perishable organic stuff were stacked neatly in industrial-sized shelves that towered over them. Matt gaped up at them, taking off his sunglasses to see better. Al continued with a grin as he tossed Matt something from a box on the floor.

"We'll have a name tag made for you soon, but here's your apron."

Matt caught the apron and slipped it over his head. Not the most flattering or manly of garments, but hey, Al was wearing one too. Although, the brunette made it look almost good.

"You can start by taking those boxes-" Al pointed at a pile of them, laying in a disorderly fashion near what Matt assumed to be a drop-off site, "-and sort them by the labels, putting them in their correct shelves. Think you can handle that?"

"Yeah," Matt replied.

"Excellent." Al winked and turned on a heel, calling behind him: "You don't have to wear the apron for that. It's mostly for show, when you're seeing the customers!"

And with that, he was gone. Matt shrugged and pulled off the apron, hanging it on a nail where he knew he wouldn't forget it. He clipped his sunglasses on his apron as well, so he wouldn't forget them either, or have them fall off and get crushed. Then came the tying of the ponytail, a habit Matt was used to to keep his long hair out of his face...for the most part, anyways. The shorter layers that framed his face fell out of the rubber band, as did that stupid curl that grew unruly from his part. But Matt didn't mind. It had always been that way.

He began the mind-numbing manual labor, but was only about a quarter through the pile of boxes when his stomach began to growl. When was the last time he ate? The ham sandwich he had for dinner last night? He continued on, gritting his teeth through his stomach's loud protests, until he was down to the last two boxes and Al showed up miraculously.

"Looks pretty good," he nodded approvingly, then clapped his hands and grinned in that crooked way of his. As Matt finished up, he quipped: "Hungry, doll?"

"Uh, yeah, how did you-?"

"It's lunchtime. Everyone's hungry," Al laughed. Matt blinked.

"Right." He dragged out the word unsurely as he grabbed his apron and sunglasses, which he slipped into the apron's pocket. "Okay."

Al led him out into the store, gesturing with a sweep of his hand.

"What do you want for lunch?"

"I'm not really hun-" Matt's stomach growled. He winced. "-gry."

"Uh-huh." Al patted his back. "C'mon, food court's this way."

Matt forgot that this giant of an organic store was also part restaurant; towards the back there were organic dishes

galore being served. Al told him to go where he wanted, he would meet him back in the center. Matt approached one and ordered a roast beef sandwich, to mix things up a little bit from his normal ham-and-cheese diet. They rendezvoused back within ten minutes at a small, Formica table. Al leant on the shiny plastic with one arm, playing with his food.

"What's that?" Al asked as Matt settled into a chair.

"Roast beef. What's that?" He countered with a nod at Al's meal.

"Tofurkey and broccoli."

Matt snickered. "Tofu, thought that was only for girly vegans, eh?"

Al's smile turned slightly bitter. "I'm a vegan."

"Oh."

"Do you have a problem with that, doll face?" The endearment was used in sarcasm this time.

"No!" Matt blushed, hiding it by casting his eyes to the ground and itching his face. It was odd to imagine such a manly and imposing figure such as Al being something seen as a hippie fad.

"I've just...never met a vegan."

"Really?" Al looked as surprised as his cool and stoic face would allow. "Well, now you have."

The meal continued in silence until a question built itself up in Matt's mind. It exploded out of his mouth:

"Don't you have, like, managerial things to do?"

"Having lunch isn't managerial?" Al quirked an eyebrow, taking a bite into his tofurkey as if to prove a point.

"Well, but with me," Matt insisted. "I'm a newbie."

Al swallowed, chuckled, and said nothing else for a moment, until:

"Tell me about yourself, Matt."

"There's not much to tell," grumbled the other through a mouthful of roast beef. He didn't return the question politely as he should have, still bitter over his confusion as to why Al was sitting with him. Al looked skeptical.

"I'm sure there's a lot to know about you. You're just not willing to tell me."

Matt flipped his hair from his face, half considering retying the ponytail.

"Or maybe I really am as boring as I seem," he said sourly.

"I doubt it," Al replied, his eyes steely on Matt. The Canadian refused to answer, just returning the gaze and eating his roast beef. Finally Al sighed, shook his head, and grinned.

"Well, since today is Sunday, we close at five. You have a few more hours of cleaning and stock to do, and then you can go home. Sound good?"

"Yes."

"Alright, doll. There's a bucket and mop in the supply closet just to the left of the bananas. It's not too busy today, you can mop the emptier aisles. Just make sure to put up one of those wet floor signs."

"Okay." Matt waited for a dismissal, but Al just ate his tofurkey without another glance to him. He got up wordlessly and threw his garbage away, and headed to the mentioned supply closet at a fast walk, putting on his apron as he went. He didn't pay attention to his surroundings, just fuming and staring at his feet. Did he look like a charity case that needed friends? He had come here for a job, not for the manager to follow him around like he was a baby about to fall flat on his butt.

And with that, he was flat on his butt.

His legs slipped out from under him, and he flailed his arms wildly as he tried to catch himself- to no avail. Matt ended up sprawled in what he hoped was water. It was definitely wet, and all over his shirt's back now.

At first he scrambled to get up, embarrassed, but fell down again.

"Slow down, doll." How had Al gotten there so fast? "You're gonna hurt yourself."

He offered Matt a hand, which he begrudgingly accepted.

"Artie," Al accused a strawberry blond as he helped Matt stand. "Remember the wet floor sign next time, okay?"

"Sorry, boss," chirped the man, who was holding the mop Matt was on his way to get. He surveyed Artie over. He looked chubby, freckled, ad innocent...but was that a glint of malice he saw in his wide blue eyes?

"Sorry about that," Al soothed as he let go of Matt and led him back through the Employees Only door. "Artie can get a little...well, don't eat his cupcakes. I have a shirt you can put on."

"Thank you. Cupcakes?"

"Yeah," he grinned at the other. "Cupcakes. Don't eat 'em."

Al tossed him a green Universal Organics t-shirt, which Matt gratefully accepted. He tugged off his apron and had unbuttoned his soaking flannel shirt halfway before he realized Al was still standing there with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" Matt barked.

"Nothing, nothing. I'll look away." Al turned his head to the side, but Matt could swear he saw the other still watching him from the corner of his eye. He didn't mind; he worked out, and was proud of his body. Sometimes. Not recently, but sometimes.

The two carried out their work day as if nothing had happened. Matt waved Al goodbye at five o'clock and hopped on his bus. But sitting in the plastic bus seat he couldn't help remembering changing in the warehouse and wondering if Al's fascination was jealousy...or maybe something else?


End file.
